THE STORYTELLER.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 10301, 4 November 1911, Page 2

THE STORYTELLER.

THE DEATH-BARGAIN. (By EDWIN PUGH.) Author of'"Tony Drum," "The En- '■''" chantress," etc. i»;. '-■* [All Rights Reserved.] '*>>■ Side by side the two men paced slow}f[ ly, back'and forth, on the sun-bleach-iw ed. grass of the smooth shaven lawn ,/-* that .sloped away gently from the .** French windows of the dining-room to .'*•- the edge of the creek. Tliey were both , r ' middle-aged men, bub thero was no other likeness between thorn. Balmer /:.: Was corpulent and pursy, a man of **■ flabby physique, with a yellowish, puffy 'c<i face and the dull eyes of a dyspeptic. :*•' Crosfieid was tall and lean and ■-*:, straight, with a keen profilo, and tho , * carriage of a man in a state of perfect ■V bodily fitness. ,W- An August sun biased down upon *»■»• fchem. Balmer wore a Panama hat and 'i carried an open umbrella to shield him-

, ./„ Belf from its rays; nevertheless he peri> spired and panted in the heat. Cros■;;,,h. field walked in the full glare, and yet t looked as cool and composed as if he ' , r . jaad been made of granite. His pale, .immobile face, contrasted vividly with his companion's red, excited countenitV'ance.' Vj;■;, The creek which spread its shimmerS:*f n g green expanse twenty yards away ;', had the appearance of a river until '.';, you raised your eyes and gazed westward where it met the blue vastness of ...... the open sea. It was a broad arm of :■% water, pent in for the most part befcween precipitous banks of sandstone. )'.ty 'A gay punt, painted red and white, ;,;'„ drifted slowly down along tho edge of fcl 'khe creek. In the punt was a girl, £'■* dressed in a biscuit-coloured frock and ; *' .wearing a broad-brimmed . straw hat, '* v %ho was perfunctorily and carelessly • . propelling the unwieldy craft along by **" means or a pole. t.. '. " You are the only man that knows," ,; ''~ Baid Crosfieid. 0 "Yes," said Balmer. i>" ''And you mean to ruin mo?" 7 r "Yesy Ittj, « y QU ] lav - e no ms3 . C yP" rl- ."None."

!*' "Nothing that I can say will move ; i .foil?" 1- "Nothing." • | .. "Why, Maimer? Why?" ■ Balmer smiled under cover of. his '■■">-•' handkerchief, as. ho mopped his face. '' I have always disliked you," he Bald. "Though you are my neighbour my partner; though we have been together, now for twenty years, ! .(and during all that time have kept up , }«» R pretence of friendship, I have always , !*•>disliked—no, hated you." rT "Again—why?" "Because Mrs Balmer, my wife, always preferred you to me. We always squabbled about you. She always held , (•'•''you up before me as her ideal of all jc-wat a man should be." ' " But she married you." K}"' "Because you never asked her to 'marry you. Oh, she made that quite clear to me! And I think I hate you I '*. more for not asking her than for any- '■-'• 'thing else." Crosfteld moistened his thin lips with i the tip of his tongue. " And now you r' *'are going to take vour revenge—eh?" ,:.'" fce said. - p;, ' "Yes, I am." ;-' ' "Does it occur to you, Balmer," said ' Crosfteld, after a short pause, "that I Mi-* could drag you down to the water this , ! minute and throw you in?" in-*' Mr Balmer gazed apprehensively at | ■ nis grim-looking companion. ■ ■';' '-'"Yon daren't," he said. ',,.»•■' "Don't be afraid," the other reas--1 j. J ?iured him. "I'm not going to do it. : j*r ,f \Vhat would it matter to m&P I am i -m done for."

J-".',' Balrner was silent. *-X "Supposing I said that if you did f . 'not disgorge that forged cheque of mine >'>t -would throttle you," here and now?" L(i| "The cheque is not in my possession pf'et this moment. If you did anything ; i.-vifef that sort you would only make matworse for yourself.". i Vi' "I am awaro of that. Though I if they could bo much worse." '»;<: " You would go to prison." J'ii' " Whero else am I to go?" ''■*>*;. "I am willing to give you enough to ■■'awlake ypu to America." ''s>.'any other foreign country. My wife, children, are here. How could I ■*"■ suddenly take them abroad without intheir suspicions? It may not <i*r!)i6 very intelligent to you, Balmer, but . > tftny wife and my children respect me, as ■' i»>cwell as love me." '*•■■;) "Do you mean to imply that my wife »«■■» iand daughter do not respect and love

me, too?" . >*-. i. ■ Orosfield shrugged his shoulders. i,y rt You said just now that your : v.- Wife——" A ..;.',-•! "Ah, hut my daughter!" He raised ! his heavy hand as he spoke and gazed - across-the creek toward the punt. " She loves mel" ..,,., "Yes," said Crosfield. "And that ';> \'jWight to make you merciful." \.,'\ Tho girl in the punt, Balmer's daugh- : ter, saw that the two men—her father ,', fcnd, as she supposed, her father's old ■i [friend —were looking at her. She •;/ rested on her punt pole and wared her Lvhand. j "Well, it dosen't make me merci- , • ;I«1," said Balmer. "I have always .■„ to be able to say to my wife, that is the kind of man your ad- ' i' 7 jmirable Crosfield really is—a swindler, j '/i, forger, a " '>-.'•! "That's enough." said Crosfield , /-'fharply- "I forged the cheque. I J«j J lalsihed, the books. But I meant to tell /'"you, and make it good. I should have so, as soon as things straightened i/- (Slit'a bit, as they will straighten out. [•' though it is true T have committed technical crime, I still fail to see how have.harmed you in any way. If I ■* ;Jj 'liad ever imagined for an instant that " you were really my friend I should have {""pome to you and explained just how I | 'ttood, and asked you to help me. But )■*•• I trusted to your proved stupidity not U?r|o find out the fraud, and accident ro- } n ! pealed it to you and so put me in your > Well, well, 1 shan't plead with l"'"fon any more." * t "It wouldn't be any use if you did." yil. "I know that. At the same time I '"' pllrant you to understand what you are A,, ''ftoing. You are ruining me: That •«="lttoesn't matter; I could fend for my"Tielf. Bub you are also forcing me to . * l>reak, up my home, to forego all my amr oitious schemes for my children's fu- * iure, to begin a fresh battle with the World at an age when most men hope " lo retire from the conflict. And even '" lhat is not the worst. You are putting jae under a necessity to lie to my wife, »" to spend the rest of my lifo under the c ., •loud of her suspicion and mistrust." > "Yon should have thought of that ' fcefore." i "I did. But the risk of detection ; seemed so small. And I was quite des-

perate." : '\ ' He' said no more, but continued to I pace the lawn, side by side with BalBkm\

The girl in the punt cried out in a ?• -clear voice: '".,'. "Father, lam coming in now. Be , feady to hold the punt while I get out, >m.vou.". '"',. "All. right, my doar," ho shouted * liaok in ready response, and, meekly * obedient, left Crosfield without another and waddled down the lawn to- • fr&rd the water. * r Crosfield stood Tor a moment, watching the clumsy, squat ii.gnn; of his ons* »my, with a bitter law. Then he wheel- ., *d about and began to walk slowly, tnoodily, up the slope. '■ He had not gone a doz/'n yars beforo he heard a hoarse, harsh bellow be- * hind him, followed by a thin, shrill : - icreani and the sound of a splash. He turned quickly; and, even as ho ■-■' turned, began to run. Something had happened to the punt, pome disastrous accident that seemed to have involved boiii Balmer and his

SHORT AND. SERIAL,

daughter. Crosfieid had an instant impression of Balnier up to his middle in the creek, floundering wildly, his tAvo arms thrashing the water like the sails of a mill. The punt had turned upside-down and was rapidly drifting away from the land toward the mouth of the estuary. The gird had disappeared. These salient details Crosfieid grasped in tho few seconds that it took him to cross the lawn. By tho time he had reached the little wooden land-stage Balmer had scrambled to the shore again. He was caked to the hair with weeds and slime. He was sobbing and wringing Iris hands and weeping. As ho became aware of Crosfield's approach he began to shuffle his feet, to dance grotesquely in a sort of frenzy, and to pour forth incoherent utterances.

«My God!— Crosfieid—tho rope broke—l slipped—she is in the watershe will be drowned—she can only swim a little —save her I" That was the substance of his ravings. As he gasped and shuddered in his agonised efforts after intelligible speech he clutched/-at Crosfield's sleeve with one muddy band, whilst with the other he pointed distractedly across the creek. Crosfieid looked and saw, first a round black blob, and then tho pinkish gleam of an upturned face, tossing on the surface of the water, some forty or fifty yards away. The girl was making a gallant struggle for u life. But she swam feebly, and it was instantly manifest to Crosfieid that, hampered as she was by her clothes, she must sink ill a very few minutes. Instinctively he threw off his hat and coat, stooped to unfasten his canvas shoes. And then he paused. "You will save her, Crosfieid—my little girl!—my little Rosalie!" Balmer seized him by the shoulder, was violently shaking him. Crosfieid grew rigid, motionless, in that' crouching attitude. "Why should IP" he asked slowly, quietlv." "After all, wlrv should IP" "But you will, Crosfieid? You must-'' "She is your child, not mine." " I—l can't swim, Crosfieid." "You would have shown no mercy to my children," the stern, incisive voice went on. " I will have mercy on them, Cros.field—and on you." "I do not ask—l would not accept—your mercy for myself." " Oh, my God 1" groaned the stricken father. '' She will die! _ She will die I—die—while wo are talking. Crosfieid, save her! Save her, Crosfieid!" He fell on his knees. "Of course 1" will save her," said Crti3fiold sharply, as if rousing from a deep abstraction. And then he continued rapidly, as he began to unlace his shoes: "'You will destroy that cheque. You will say nothing of the fraud. You will make everything all rignt. You will have to. if I save your daughter's life. Decency forbids that you should expose me after that. And my wife, my children, will never know. My dreams for them will all come true. You promise me, Balmer? As there is a Judge between us, you promise me thatP" " Yes, yes. Anything. Anything. I swear '' He fell flat upon his hands and then upon his face as Crosfieid shook off his frantic clutch, stepped out.firmly upon the landing stage and jumped in. He rose to the surface as Balmer rose to his feet again. The drowning girl Avas still visible—now a full furlong from the shore—as she battled on bravely against the ebb, but the punt had utterly vanished from view. Crosfieid, borne along with the outrunning tide, swiftly overhauled the girl. And she, having seen liim leap to her rescue, was husbanding her strength. There was' little doubt that he would reach her in time, and a prayer of thanksgiving—Balmer's hrst heartfelt prayer—went up to heaven. The two figures had joined.. Balmer saw their shining black heads in close proximity; and then began the long, stern struggle against the current back to the shore again. The interminable minutes passed ; and slowly it began to dawn upon the father's consciousness that the girl might not be saved after all. For Crosfield's safety he had no thought, as he had no care. But his child! He was seized with fresh panic as he watched and saw that rescuer and rescued, if they were not indeeddrifting out to sea, were certainly making no headway, despite their united efforts. And there was not a boat in sight on all that glittering plain of water; they had all been requisitioned, every skiff and dinghy, for a regatta at a seaside town .five miles away. Once rnore Balmer fell a. prey to frenzy, began to shuffle his feet and to dance grotesquely. Then ho pulled himself together. He told himself that he must not again lose his self-control. He might be able to help in some way. He forced himself to think, clearly, soberly. His first impulse waa to rush back to the house and summon aid; but he reflected that would avail him nothing. Only the women were thore, and one decrepit odd-job-man. No, he himself must act.

And then, suddenly, he remembered that two or three hundred yards along the shore, as you approached the sea, he had noticed an old. apparently disused boathouse. It was a ramshackle, broken-down shed; hut, conceivably, there might ho a boat in it. He began to run. As he ran he fixed his gaze unsteadily upon that splashing, struggling group in the water, that seemed never to movo and yet was drifting, slowly, surely, toward the insatiate sea.. At every unevenness in the ground he stumbled and tripped. Twice he fell headlong, heavily. But he reached the old boathouse at last, smashed the rusty padlock with a stone, flung open the gates, and discovered a boat. It was a crazy, unseaworthy craft; but he dragged it out and down the slope, and pushed it out, and tumbled into it. It was many years since he had pulled an oar; but now he seized the sculls and laboured at them like a giant. His progress would have been faster had he not felt constrained, to look over his shoulder, between each stroke, toward those two black blobs afar off in the water. "Put your hands under her armpits and lift her in over tho stern," said Crosfield. " Carefully! I can spare you a hand to steady' the boat. INow——• I" His white, streaming face glistened in the slanting sunrayg like a silver mask as ho whispered these instructions hoarsely. Balmer had no oye3 for him, but only for his child. "She is not doad?" he wheezed out. "She looks like death!" " Sho has just this moment fainted," breathed Crosfield, "Now!" A hoist and a heave. The boat rocked madly, threatened to capsize, then righted itself with the girl aboard. "She's safe? That's right," said Crosfield. "Balmer! Balmer, I say." Then Balmer at last turned an owlish face to him. "I'm asking no favours for myself, you know, Balmer/' said Crosfield, "But for my wife, my children." "Yes?" muttered Balmer, hardly listening, as he chafed the cokl Ave; hands of the senseless girl. "Yes? w And then, as if it came to him as a new surprising thought: " How arc you going to get into the boat, Crosfield?" " I'm not going to get into the boat. I don't suppose 1 could if I wanted to." "You are going to to* to swim to shore?" "You can Ray so—afterwards—if you like. But, Balmer, listen. That

cheque. You won't forget your promise?" "No, no. Of course net." Then, abruptly, the dull soul of Balmer awoke from its pre-occupation, seemed to glimpse dimly something of tho splendour of his enemy's self-sacri-hco. He began to protest distractedly that Crosfieid must not drown, that he must be got into tho boat somehow. Crosfieid, treading water stolidly, calm and wholly unperturbed as if he were in a swimming bath, bade him hold his tongue. "I wanted only your promise," he said. " And T have' that. I think you will not dare to break your word." And then, deliberately, he thrust off with his feat from the side of the boat, and began to swim, with long leisurely strokes, toward the cpen sea.